


Shackles

by Fly_Chalupa_Fly



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, Multi, Sadness, among other things, but first its this, more to come later hopefully, pain and suffering, why am i doing this horrible project
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fly_Chalupa_Fly/pseuds/Fly_Chalupa_Fly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Handmaid, who knows no other name than her own and a certain green-dressed fellow, has much to manage in the timelines-some of which include ensuring that trolls die, that others live, and that things transpire according to plan. Time is a funny thing. Many sweeps preceding this contemplation, however, a young jadeblood by the name of Porrim finds something in the caverns not entirely unexpected, but melancholy all the same-a mutated grub who remains silent nearly all hours of both day and night. Intrigued by the odd behavior of the little thing, as well as an overall pity for the grub who will never be able to survive, she decides to take a few moments to consider the world in which she lives...</p><p>This is the very first chapter of "Shackles", my in-depth as all hell rendition of the tale of the Signless and his companions, a work which I hope to include in a series of works that will (I hope) effectively tell the story of Alternia's ancestors. Every. Single. One. Just as a warning, this work in particular isn't gonna have any graphic descriptions or even very many close encounters of the sexual kind, mostly because there's gonna be way too much focus on plot for that.  At the most, I might hint at it a few times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, there! This work will tell, to the very best of my ability, of the founding and travels of the Signless and his comrades up to his execution. I will attempt to stick as close to canon as I can, but will spend a lot of time on character and plot development as well, because let's face it-there is a WHOLE LOT of things that can be explored there.
> 
> And before you ask-no, there isn't going to be much erotic stuff at all, mostly because I do not feel as though I'm able to write that sort of thing very well at all and because this is going to be very plot-heavy. There will be still be shippy stuff, of course, but not much other than that. This is definitely a Longfic, going for more than sixteen chapters thus far, and though there's no sex it is going to be quite violent-particularly near the end. There isn't anything like that in the very first chapter, but things will end up getting pretty gory. Just check the notes at the start of the chapter and I'll warn you of any graphic violence descriptions.
> 
> I am currently actually very far ahead on chapter work (Currently working on chapter seventeen) so you will certainly get to see this work completed. Updates should be expected on weekends, and should come either weekly or bi-weekly, depending on how busy things are. There might even be a second work, focusing on Mindfang's adventures as well as the highbloods, and a third, focusing on the Summoner's rebellion. But that will be in the future. For now, sit back, slam a wicked elixir, and enjoy!!

Prologue.

From almost the moment she was born, The Handmaid had no sense of time.  
She tended to rely on several different things to plan out events. But times was not one of them. It was, contrary to the belief of most, the single most unpredictable and inconsistent thing she had ever come across. Traveling through its’ folds, manipulating it, coaxing it to her will, was one of the only things it seemed good for. It was a difficult and nearly impossible process, was time-travel. It took more than plain skill and practice, it took the ability. Some could do it, and others could not. While it may seem unfair, it was simply how things worked. Fate seemed to work that way-handpicking those who could best harness its’ power and leaving others without it. For time, vast and infinite, is not to be taken lightly in the hands of the power hungry.  
That had been one of the first things that the Handmaid learned in the service of Lord English. Since the day she had been born, she had been alone. Lost in the flux of time and space. Forever trapped in the universe. For every once in awhile, a child may be born seemingly fated to die. It was a common occurrence on Alternia, and even on the Earth, which would not exist for eons later. Though this concept of a doomed life may seem taken to an extreme, it does happen. And the Handmaid was used to it.  
Endlessly, it seemed, she had shivered alone amongst the cold, dark reaches of space, where even light, the fastest travelling agent in existence, could never pierce the thick black utter nothingness of the universe. It was as though it were the time Christians spoke of, before the universe had been created, where there was nothing.  
But there was something. There was a child. And other things came later.  
The screams soon came. Screams of the doomed. The heartbroken. The lonely. The screams of those desperately fighting death and the inevitable, along with those who wished for the eternal sleep more than anything else in all of infinity. The screams of those who suffered, and the screams of those who were forced to watch others suffer.  
It had taken the Handmaid an immeasurable amount of time to realize the screaming had been coming from her lips all along.  
She was nameless. She did not know where she was, or what to do. And she was completely, and indescribably alone.  
This changed with the coming of Doctor Scratch. He was a short man, who wore a white suit. Along with his green bowtie, there was only one other thing about his appearance that seemed striking., He had no face.  
He first appeared to the young Handmaid six thousand years in the future, if we judge it by todays standards. Soon, he had taken her into his custody. She did not have much say in the matter, but then, she did not yet know how to speak.  
It was Doc Scratch who gave her everything, and it was also Doc Scratch who took away everything. Everything seemed to come with a price. The man did love deals. With the gift of speech, he took away her freedom. With the gift of a home and bed, he took away her privacy. And with the gift of powerful knowledge, he took away her dignity.  
The Handmaid despised him. It is sometimes very common for trolls to develop a pitch rivalry for others, but it was not the case here. They shared no mutual attraction, she just hated him to no end. Several times she attempted to kill him, but each time her efforts were thwarted. And she was punished vigorously afterward.  
In time, she simply ceased all efforts of rebellion. She took comfort and solace in other things. The smoke of greenweed from a cigarette. The destruction of a disastrous event. Even Doctor Scratch, at times, reassured her in the knowledge that he was a tyrannical scheming asshole. But she didn’t often need that reminder.  
For she had a certain kind of fate-she was to make sure things panned out the way they ought to, maintain the timelines with utmost care and ensure that the Alpha timeline was flawless. It was hard work, for she had to be present for nearly every single climactic event in any universe, even if some did not seem climactic at all.  
For instance, she had to ensure that a certain young troll kept her lusus well fed before the same troll later became a feared pirate and had the means and will to kill for herself.  
She had to ensure that a young troll in a beta, scratched universe, as coincidental as it may seem, would be willing to sacrifice the sanctity of his own think-pan in order to protect those dear to him.  
She had to make certain that a mutantblood lived. And then she knew he must die. Though it seemed counterproductive to most, it had to be done.  
Otherwise...Chaos.  
Chaos was one of the things that the handmaid was not particularly fond of. Chaos was the very thing she was born into and it was the very thing she was not keen to go back into.

At the moment, she had traversed to what appeared to be a vast desert. It was not the first desert she had ever been in, nor would it be the last. But thus far, it was by far the biggest. Sand spread out almost as far as she could see, stretching for miles and miles on end until the horizon kissed the night sky. Though it was night, same as it always was when the trolls of Alternia became active to go about their daily lives, it was many sweeps ahead of when the Demoness had last visited here.  
This was a night of particular importance. On this day, several things were happening at once. Some of them were of little to no consequence. A fur-beast had just had its dinner. A ruler had just finished brushing her hair, though it had taken many hours to complete, time stretching out behind.  
Currently, though, there were also several important things happening at once. A pirate had just learned the name of her murderer, far away on the waters that the sand beneath the Handmaid’s feet missed so. A different troll, one who lived far away from the light of the stars, was painting murals of insanity on the walls, adding wallpaper after gorey wallpaper.  
And, in an execution ground far, far away from this section of the desert, an arrow was being drawn.

 

1.

The bright red of the Alternian sun echoed throughout the caverns, casting long shadows among the rocks, blinding the eyes and burning the skin of any who had been brave enough or foolish enough to trespass in its’ path. She found the temperature slightly comfortable. The jadeblood stood just on the outer entrance of the cave, taking a few moments to bask in the illumination that would soon be lost in the expanse of the cave. It was almost amusing; by her knowledge there wasn’t a troll alive except herself and the other members of her caste that knew what the surface of Alternia looked like by the light of the sun. Presently, it was just about to rise, rays of light cutting through the leaves of distant trees and sending out thin fingers along the rocky ground, and for perhaps the thirteenth time that morning, she wondered if it was really a good idea to stand out in the light like this.Though the light of the sun had never harmed a jadeblood for as long as they had existed on the planet, she often would wonder if the horrid stories of trolls being melted away would apply to her as well if she braved it for too long. 

She turned from the dawn outside and instead entered the mouth of the barley illuminated cave, posture as dignified as ever. Though unfriendly and primitive on the outside, the Caverns were exceedingly well organized. Though the winding tunnels crafted by the Mother-Grub would prove difficult to navigate to the untrained eye, it was very well set up- there was a central cavern where the Mother-Grub rested, a place deeper in the Caverns where the eggs she lay were placed. Though the sheer amount of eggs that could be lain by the Mother-Grub had astounded her at first sight, less than a quarter of them actually ended up hatching. The thought struck her a slightly sad and regrettable, but there was little to be done about it, for the circumstances had to be just right for a grub to hatch. Her footsteps made little sound as she navigated further into the tunnels, dark green eyes already grown accustomed to the lack of light.

Her pace was slow, leisurely, for it was early even for auxiliatrice standards and there were not yet any duties she needed to fulfill. It was relaxing, peaceful even, in these wee hours of the morning where the rush and tasks of the Caverns had yet to present themselves and she could simply take a few moments to herself. It seemed with the constant chores of tending to the Mother-Grub and Wrigglers there was hardly any time to think, and she seized whatever opportunity she could. Free thought, at the very least, was something the trolls of Alternia were not exempt from even if one had to be wary of what was spoken most of the time.

Yet, her routines were hardly something to complain about. She was hardly on the low end of the hemocaste that seemed to dictate her life, and being part of such a rare caste did come with advantages, and a sense of respect from most. Though she hardly had to put up with very much of the outside public given her irregular sleep schedule. Tending to the grubs took up nearly all day long, leaving her to sleep during the night instead, when all other trolls were up and about. Though it was a fairly solitary lifestyle, she was more than used to it, and the quietness of her life was something she appreciated. Aside from the fellow jadebloods that shared her duties, she hardly spoke to anyone, something that suited her just fine as well. Conversation was not something practiced when there was work to be done, and she personally felt that she would much rather be sewing or reading than using up all of her free time spreading along idle gossip. She didn’t see much point to rumors unless they concerned her, and none of them did. Besides that, most of the talk was about the political figures of Alternia, the high-standing officers and officials that she could honestly care less about.

She was not one to stoop so low as to get wrapped up in talk or even violence, common though it was in the culture of trolls. Fighting and conquering was something highly encouraged on Alternia, and it was something she preferred to stay away from the best she could. Though she did not normally go out during the nights, the horrific acts committed for the sake of dominance were more or less common knowledge, and she shuddered to consider them. She, thankfully, had been well school-fed and could easily drop a wry insult hidden in a compliment in place of using brute force. Honestly, it was much more effective that way.

As she had suspected, the caverns were deserted from what she could observe. There was hardly a sound save for the whisper of her own clothing as she moved, for she had yet to cross into the large area where the grubs dwelled. It seemed as though a chorus of squeaking and chirping greeted her whenever she set foot in that area, and though it was rather endearing, it was also rather loud. She paid it little mind now, after all, the livelier ones were the ones most likely to survive the Trials and live out to adulthood. So let them squeak now-Alternian society had a crafty way of dealing with those who became too outspoken. She herself was not one to discuss anything very important at all, though she could easily hold her own in eloquent conversation, simply because it was just too risky. Instead, she merely carried out her duties as efficiently and thoroughly as she could, and tried not to stir up anything unnecessarily troublesome. Thus far, she had succeeded with flying colours. no officials had ever come knocking at her hive, no highbloods had ever bothered her, and she had broken no laws she was aware of. Even the rare times she was harassed, either by a brazen indigo or a bigoted sea-dweller, she managed to dismiss them with little harm to herself. Perhaps the greatest harm done to her that she could recollect had been an insult or two, and even those had been soon regretted by the provider. She was not one to put up with snide comments quietly, perhaps that was the singular fault that might cause her to get into some trouble. She simply would not stand to be insulted by those lower in intellect than herself, particularly if the insults had anything to do with her appearance. Impressions were of the utmost importance, after all, even to one who mingled so rarely. A tidy appearance the key to a good first impression, something that you never knew would happen; best to be prepared if needed.

“Ah, Maryam? You’re awfully early.”

She quickly whipped her head around to face the troll who had just addressed her: a fellow female jadeblood who seemed to be carrying a basket in one hand. The fellow care-taker of the Caverns was dressed simply, as was normally the custom of trolls of their caste, and her symbol was outlined in green on the back of her vest. Porrim Mayram, though she knew a judgmental troll was something no one enjoyed, couldn’t help but to consider a few fabric alternatives that would have made the vest a bit nicer. The article of clothing had clearly not been fitted to the other troll very well, and the end only reached a third of the way down her torso.

The troll standing opposite her followed her gaze down to the vest and tugged on the end in what seemed to be a force of habit. “What is it? Is there something on my shirt?”

Porrim swallowed once, taking care to bite her tongue before replying. “No, of course there isn’t. You’re quite early yourself, however, are you not? Clearly, I could be asking you the same question.”

The other troll merely shrugged, dismissing the slightly defensive retort. “I couldn’t sleep very well.” she confessed, her eyes drifting among the rock formations of the cave for a moment. “But, at any rate, I’m glad you’ve shown up early as well. There’s work to be done. The load from last perigee just hatched and there’s already a few poor buggers who won’t make it out this time.”

“Dear things.” Porrim lamented. Exhaling in a small sigh, she shook her head-the collection of the weaklings had always been something rather difficult to undergo, even if she was used to it by now. It was simply another thing that had to be done-not looking at the small grubs as you placed them in the basket made it easier, something she had learned in the sweeps of caretaking.

Clumsily, the troll opposite her took a few steps near the side of the cavern before stooping down and collecting another wicker basket from a pile in a corner that Porrim had not registered earlier. She stuffed one unceremoniously into Porrim’s hand and said “Here.” The more quaintly dressed of the two gave the other a look that suggested some sort of explanation, to which the other troll said, “We’re gonna need all the extra hands we can get. There’s lots this time around. Not just weaklings either, there are a few mutants as well. I could swear I saw one little fellow with an extra leg on my way out.”

At this, Porrim raised one brow and took a moment to glance down into the basket the other troll was balancing in one arm. As she had suspected, there were a few small figures stirring inside, though it was with a feeble motion a if the grubs were tired after just a few hours of life. She felt a flash of remorse before quickly looking away.

The other troll gave a small nod before turning her attention to the empty area behind Porrim, quickly slipping around her and continuing on to the cavern located on the far left. That was the place any disabled or sick grubs would go, the ones not suited to harsh Alternian life. From there, they would be taken to the drones and culled. Though it was a gruesome practice, Porrim had long since decided that it was a kinder end to their fate than throwing them headlong into a world that would force them to struggle for survival. Alternia was hardly kind to the worse off, and it was far better to simply discard of the less-able ones before they had any chance to suffer. Frowning slightly, she continued on her way through the winding tunnels, now hearing a faint sound which grew louder the further along she walked. When she arrived at the source of the noises, she greeted the litter with a softly spoken, “Hello, there, darlings. How might you all be faring?”

Of course, the only answer she received was a symphony of squeaks. The litter, she observed a she entered further into the cavern, had actually done quite well, more so than she had expected it to; nearly all of the cavern was taken up by grubs. For the most part, she couldn’t really see what the vested troll had been referring to, for the majority of the little ones looked healthy enough. Careful to avoid stepping on any stragglers, she continued on her way, examining the ground closely for any signs of weaklings or mutants. Aside from a few grubs that looked to be napping or whining, there wasn’t much of notice, though there was a bright jade one. It was always nice to see a little grub sharing her own caste. The grub looked healthy and happy as well, which would earn it a bit of fortune in the trial, perhaps. There were a few goldbloods here and there, as well, their little eyes already glowing red and blue with the psychic powers so prized by many. They would have a bit of an advantage of getting through, she knew, for abilities were always something that could be useful for the preservation of oneself. She continued her walk, basket still in one arm, though it remained empty. It wasn’t until she walked further into the spacious cavern that she at last saw what the other troll had been speaking of. they had been so still and quiet that she had hardly even noticed them.

They were all grouped together, as if to support one another in such hard times, situated in a small pile near the back of the cavern. She tightened her jaw just slightly as she observed the misfortunate group, leaning against one another, only a few blinking open their eyes to observe her. Slowly, she knelt down among the small group, silently counting out how many there were to take to the drones. There weren’t any impressive number, but there were still more than normal, something that troubled her slightly.

She picked one up, a small rustblood who gave a pathetic little “Squeak”, and gave a small sigh of regret. “Hello there, little fellow. Not doing so well, are you? Let’s see what the matter is.” Porrim’s eyes flickered along the small body of the grub until she determined the cause of it’s weakness: where one of the legs should be was nothing more than a small black stub. “Goodness, what happened here?” she muttered, lifting the grub to inspect the missing limb closer. “Looks like you’ve already seen your fair share of battle and you haven’t even left the Caverns yet. Unless you just happened to hatch that way?” She wondered aloud, still observing the grub through a lense of pity. The poor things fate was already as good as sealed in the first place;pondering as to how such a thing had come to pass would only waste time. Trying not to consider the outcomes too much, Porrim carefully placed the little thing into the basket. “I’m afraid it’s to the Drones you go, my dear. I’m sure you gave it your best effort.” She sighed an observed the group of misfits again. “Now, what about the rest of you? What happened to all of you? Illness, perhaps?”

As always, Porrim was only met with a few little chirps from the gathered group, most of which were distinctly quieter than the rest. No doubt they were tired from the very effort required for movement. As far as she could tell, the group mostly consisted of a few bronzebloods, a cerulean and a few more rustbloods. It came as no surprise that they were primarily lowblooded, mutations were much more common in the lower castes, after all. She scooped up a few more, inspecting each one carefully for the source of their weakness. She didn’t have to look very hard to determine, them-physical injuries were easy to spot, along with mutations. Within a few minutes, two more grubs had earned a spot in the basket. Frowning, Porrim hefted the basket a bit higher in one arm. Though she had grown accustomed to the weight of grubs, they were still rather heavy to be toting around all day long. If anything, it was more troublesome. But, for the sake of the small grubs who would soon meet their ends, she did not complain.

“Now, do we have any more stragglers?” she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else.

She took a quick look around the cavern again, before catching sight of something terribly unusual. “What in the world…?” she commented, quickly standing and crossing over to the oddity. For an oddity it was, the likes of which Porrim could honestly not remember witnessing in all her time spent serving the Mother-Grub. In fact, to call it a mere oddity would almost be an understatement. There had to be a one-in-a-million chance for something like this to occur. She quickly approached the small grub in question, kneeling down beside it and examining it through widened eyes. At first glance, the grub appeared more or less normal. Perhaps a bit smaller than most. It was not in the least bit sick or weak looking, in fact, those beady little eyes appeared more observant and aware than she had ever known a grub to be. Though the grub made not a sound when Porrim approached, it did shift to look up at her, blinking once as if in greeting.

“...What…” Porrim muttered once more, as if still not entirely convinced that what she was observing was real.

The little grub’s body was red. Not the muted, dark sort of red that was associated with most rustbloods, but bright red, such as the sun looks when setting. It was the sort of color she had never seen on a troll, one that she couldn’t remember ever seeing even in the hemospectrum at all. Dumbfounded by the sheer strangeness of it, Porrim picked up the small grub, who again made no sound. Though she observed it for any other sort of physical oddities, she found none-in fact, it seemed perfectly healthy despite it’s strange color. Though she knew full well that the strange color meant it had to be delivered to the drones, she couldn’t help but examine the grub for a few moments longer. The red was still uncannily bright, almost precisley the same shade as the fabric that sat unused on a shelf in Porrim’s hive.

Setting the basket down, she balanced the grub in both hands, though it remained as silent as ever. “You’re an awfully focused little thing, aren’t you? Normally grubs are still learning to walk properly.” 

The grub merely blinked again, it’s small face as impassive as ever as if it was observing her just as she was observing it. She held it just a foot or so away from her face, careful not to drop it on the stone floor below-though it wouldn’t make very much difference if it was injured now or not. She could feel a pair of stubby little legs curl slightly around one of her fingers, like it was maintaining its’ balance. All the while it made no sound, yet another thing that struck Porrim as intensely unusual; perhaps something was the matter with its’ vocal chords or protein chute? It still seemed perfectly calm and level headed, blinking a few times as it met her gaze with clarity. Of course, grubs could not speak. The very idea was ridiculous to begin with, as they had little to no concept of even life itself yet. All the same, however, Porrim felt as though the small grub was choosing to remain silent instead, listen instead of join in to the squeaking and chirping still going on around it.

“You seem quite clever for your age.” said Porrim gently. “It’s a shame, really...Cleverness won’t stop you from hiding that blood of yours. Not that it’s anything to find grotesque...In fact, that red would make for some gorgeous clothing…”

She frowned for a moment, her eyes still remaining on the grubs’ which were as yellow as all the others. The grub sniffed at her hand a moment before looking up at her again. “There’s no use looking at me like that.” she said sternly, as if still carrying out a one-sided conversation with the mutated little grub. “There’s hardly anything I can do about it. You’ll be meeting with the drones soon, and that’s that.”

There was still no squeak of response, just the small grub staring at her in fascination. “There’s nothing I can do.” she repeated. “Nothing at all.” However, it was more as if she was addressing herself than the small grub who was still peacefully examining her face. It was rather unnerving, the way it made no sound at all and looked at her like a tiny accusation.

It took Porrim a moment to realize she had unknowingly brought the grub closer to her, so that it was perched in her arms instead of in her hands. Normally, grubs were sent out of the caverns with only two things-a sign and a lusus. It appeared that this grub in particular would possess neither. It was almost poetic, in a sense, to be killed the very same day it was given life. To be perfectly honest, however. Porrim did not find it poetic. Instead, she simply found it sad. The grub did not see to have any input regarding its fate, probably because it was still too small to understand. However, it did shift closer in Porrim’s arms, relishing the warmth in the chill of the caves. The Caverns were underground, after all, and that made for some particularly cold nights.

There was something Porrim couldn’t help but find incredibly ridiculous in regards to the little grubs’ fate, and that was only that it seemed perfectly alright if one overlooked it’s unusual coloring. It seemed smart, certainly much more aware than most grubs did, almost a bit solemn as if it knew perfectly well what was going to happen to it and was merely waiting for the death to take place. Indeed, there did seem to be something that felt almost entirely wrong about putting an end to such a small, quiet little thing. Collecting up grubs for culling was something that had always weighed rather heavily on Porrim, though she was used to it by now, but it wasn’t something she considered morally wrong. It was the way things were carried out, like tidying up a hive or putting down a sick lusi just as she had been forced to do once. When things were outside the common box, when things did not go as dictated by how Alternia was run, it was taken care of. It wasn’t anything to be outraged about. She supposed the thing that was making her think so hard about this had to have something to do with just how...Aware the little grub was, how observant and clever it seemed to be despite it’s age and situation. It made her wonder what exactly was going through its’ think-pan at the moment, for it seemed to be watching her closely as if she were some sort of official to be recognized. A grub so quiet had to be merely biding its time.

“I wonder what your name would be.” Porrim murmured, almost unconsciously tightening her arms around the grub, shielding it from the outside world it would never see. “I wonder what you would have been like after pupation. I’ve never happened across a more eloquent silence in all my sweeps serving here, did you know that?”

The grub continued to stare up at her, quiet as ever. “I wonder what would have become of you, small as you are.” she continued, meeting the beady-eyes stare. “Would you have been as full of questions as I think you would be? Would you be as quiet as you are now? Perhaps so.”

Carefully, Porrim removed the grub from her arms, moving to place it into the wicker basket. The basket would be full with this one included, which meant it would have to be left in the cavern where the drones would come; cullings of grubs never really took more than a few minutes. The squeaking was horrible to listen to, but for whatever strange reason, Porrim had a feeling that the red one would remain silent as ever.

However, something happened just as she was about to drop the grub inside to join its’ fellows; a relatively small action that was most likely little more than a reflex on the grub’s part, but still something that caused her to pause mid-action. A small pair of legs wrapped firmly around her thumb and gripped it tight, half dangling from her hand over the opening of the basket. With a small sigh, Porrim reached over with her other hand, firmly intending to peel the grub from her thumb when something caused her to hesitate again.

For, still looking directly at her, the little grub opened its’ sharp-toothed mouth and gave a soft but defined, “Skree!” 

It was the first sound she had heard uttered from the small mutant, and it was a strange coincidence that it came forth just as it was about to be carried along to its’ death. In fact, the sound was so distinct that she would go so far as to guess that it indeed was protesting the unfairness of its’ predicament. It made no other sound aside from the one, but it was enough to make her freeze up where she knelt, no longer moving to pry the grub off. The grub, it’s peice spoken, continued to hang from her thumb, waiting for her next move. It would be easy to just give one quick shake of her hand and drop it off into the basket, set it down on the outside of the cavern and leave. It would be much less hassle. It was, after all, the only option she had.

She picked the grub up again.

Porrim was well known amongst the others who shared her duties at the Caverns to be calm and level-headed at times when no one else would be. Indeed, rational thinking and logic were two things she felt as though she had quite the talent for possessing. So, not only was this action incredibly out of the ordinary, particularly in her case, she was also acutely aware that it was the stupidest thing ever done in her relatively long life-span. Tucking the little grub snugly into one of the pockets of her green and black robes, she left the basket where it lay and prayed that the little thing would remain as silent as it had been on her way out of the caverns. Thankfully, it made no sound, put as she walked quickly through the maze of underground tunnels, but it did have a rather troublesome habit of poking it’s head out of her pocket in an attempt to see where they were going.

“Show some gratitude, will you?” she hissed, gently nudging the grubs’ head back in the folds of the fabric. “I’m doing this at great personal risk.”

Thankfully, she managed to escape out of the Caverns with little trouble, though she was met with a fair share of odd looks as she did from the entering jadebloods. The sun was still out, which meant no other trolls would be outside and would at least grant her safe passage back to her hive, if she was lucky. Another shrill squeak escaped the small mutant as it poked its’ head out again, only to be met by the blazing sun.

The walk back to her hive was short, but it seemed to Porrim as though it were the longest five minutes of her life.


	2. Shackles-Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orphaner Dualscar, naval captain of the Imperial fleet, is repairing a few problems on his ship when he comes across something strange afoot in the marketplace-a jadeblood accompanied by a young wiggler. After the cavern-dweller dares to insult him, he decides to send his young yellow-blooded servant to investigate further. After all-none hope to insult captain Ampora and live to tell the tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it's never too early to bring in some Orphaner! Though he doesn't do anything drastic in this particular chapter, his political smugness and overall charisma is one of the things explored most here. I guess it didn't help that I was listening to Violet Mariner whilst writing. I for sure had a great time bringing out the Dolorosa's sassy side in this! It was great to write and I hope it's great to read, as well. Also, the young mustard-blood might seem a little bit familiar to you...I can guarantee he'll be back later, but this time with a name. Anyhow, hope you enjoy!

The land was not a comfort to him, the solid wood unsettling beneath his feet as he paced to and fro on the docks, staying near his ship as the lowblooded land-dwellers unloaded his cargo. His ship had gotten full with all sorts of filth recently, to the point where it became unsuitable even to hold a midblood, let alone someone of his ranking and standings. Though he knew perfectly well that only lowbloods were suited to the hard labor that his vessel required in order to continue functioning, it certainly was much more trouble than they were worth to house them. As a captain and soon-to-be-promoted seadweller, it was hardly his duties to stoop so low as to ensure they weren't whining anymore, for who would care to hear them complain? His hands were geared towards much more serious and dignified work, and his reputation was hardly a kind one. He was learned and wise in the ways of sea-faring and battle, and could gun down both troll and lusi alike without so much as setting a hair out of place. Rouge boats and stolen ships did not last long in the least with him on its trail, and he had splintered more hulls than he cared to count in the amount of time he’d spent as Orphaner. He was respected and dignified, far above these sorry would-be’s, and he had a seat on the Imperial Council of the Empress herself. For the Condescenion valued his prowess, after all-how could she not, with someone as skilled and royal as himself? Though he hardly expected her to tell him directly, for she was busy with matters such as fully instigating the supremacy of their race, but he had no doubt in his thinkpan that he had to be the most useful and loyal game piece on her chess board, not to mention one of the most pleasing to the eyes.  
So, when he was addressed suddenly by a mustard-blood, as if he were somehow obligated to respond and waste his precious time, he was one step from being offended-which quickly moved to offense once the mustard-blood in question voiced his inquiry.  
“Sir, they’re almost finished deporting. Where do you want them to be placed?”  
He only swiveled his head for a brief moment to regard the speaker, observing him through narrowed eyes with a distinct air of disapproval. Once he believed to have made it quite clear exactly how unamused he was at being looked to for orders as though it were at the lesser-blood’s convenience, he responded in a stiffly bored voice. “Have the drones watch after them. Throw them in someone’s cellar. Throw them off the dock for all I care, but you will not bother me with it again, is that understood?”  
Judging by the slight way the young slave stood up a little straighter, fixing the Orphaner with a look of intense dislike, he understood perhaps a bit more than the sea-dweller gave him credit for. However, all he responded with was a simple, “Sir.” and a small nod before retreating back to pass on the captains’ response.  
With a prolonged sigh of discontent, Dualscar continued to observe the off-loading of the lowbloods at his disposal. They looked to be as whiny and malcontented as ever, which hardly surprised him. As a fact most knew, lowbloods consistently had something or other to complain about; a fact which seemed to prove just how empty their think-pans were.  
“Pathetic. The whole lot of them, pathetic.” he mused quietly to himself with a sneer. “And to think they dare to complain about their place.”  
At this time of night the markets near the docks appeared to be bustling with activity, and most were eyeing his ship with an air of fear. A smug smile appeared on his face at the thought. Good. Let them fear him, for they had all the reason to do as such. He was, perhaps, above every single one of them with both his military status and his blood ranking, and that was certainly something to take notice of. It would be within his full right to simply unholster his harpoon from his shoulder and blast a hole through whichever one of them dared to cross him.  
However, there was little cause to expand energy when there was no need for it. As it were, he would already have to mingle in with the commoners in order to purchase the supplies he needed for his ship repairs. Money was hardly a problem, but the thought of being forced to brush shoulders with the landwellers almost made him physically ill. Thankfully, he expected the scum to grant him a wide breadth when the time did come, both out of fear and respect, which meant that he could not be bothered to take notice of them. With a quick snap of his fingers, he summoned the young yellow-blood who had reported to him previously, signaling him to come along.  
Someone had to carry the groceries after all, and Ampora was hardly going to stoop so low as to tug around the bags himself. Though with his arm strength gained from sweeps of slinging a harpoon gun he would be perfectly capable of doing so, such actions were for the lower class to undergo. Not him.  
As expected, the young troll quickly fell into step a few paces behind the Orphaner. Walking directly beside him would suggest that they were acquaintances, which was something that could not be further from the truth.  
The dull roar of the marketplace lessened considerably as Dualscar strode from the wood of the dock in long strides, his boots falling onto the wood with a clump. Thankfully, many of the trolls hastened their business as he arrived and then quickly made their way from the scene, heads down and eyes affixed firmly to the ground as they hurried past him. Amusing as it was to be regarded with so much terror, Ampora quite honestly had to stifle a small laugh at the observation. His first order of business was with the seller of tools, stationed strategically near the docks. The shop itself was considerably small, with planks and ropes on proud display-as if they were actually something worth being proud of.  
“Sir, pardon the interruption,” said the mustard-blood, who was already half jogging in an attempt to keep up with the Orphaner’s long strides, “but wouldn't it make more sense to acquire a good living space for the slaves first? If you just leave them in-”  
“Did I at any point,” snapped the captain, whirling on the heel of his boot to face the slave, “request your opinion on the matter?” He fixed the lesser blood with a stern glare, and the recipient of the look quickly averted his eyes, studying his own boots with a newfound interest. Clearly, he did not wish to further bleaken his fate.  
“No, sir.” came the reply, noticeably quieter than when he’d previously spoken. For a long moment, Dualscar considered unholstering his harpoon and putting an end to the lowblood’s insolent comments then and there, but with a heavy sigh he decided against it. Such an action would certainly cause a scene, and a scene would be the last thing he would want. He merely wanted to purchase his supplies and return to his ship. In the end, he settled on merely glaring at the young troll a moment longer, before continuing on his way to his destination with his violet cloak swirling behind him. The shop seemed to be nearly completely cleared in his wake, leaving only two trolls inside. One was the shopkeeper, who was worriedly wiping sawdust from the counter with his eyes fixed on the door. Another was something a tad rarer-an elegantly dressed jadeblood, who appeared to be browsing. She fixed him with more than a slightly worried look, too a few steps back, but did not vacate the premises.  
He made no move to otherwise acknowledge her-rare as the caste was, she was still little more than a midblood, after all. Instead, he strode directly up to the terrified-looking shopkeeper and demanded, in a flat tone, for the man to give him all the best spare parts required for fixing a ship which had been tossed about by storms recently. With a few quick nods, the troll complied and left, leaving himself and his slave along with the jadeblood. The yellow-blooded troll stood without speaking, his hands clasped behind his back as his multi-colored eyes wondered about the shop as though he’d been bidden to memorize it. The jadeblood regarded the young troll with a small nod and, after fixing the sea-dweller with another look of mistrust, stepped away and began heading towards the door.  
It was only then that Dualscar noticed a fourth occupant of the shop. It had gone without his knowledge, mostly due to the fact that the troll seemed to be well hidden behind the jadeblood, that a troll barely older than wiggllerdom was standing behind her and examining the violet-blood. However, it was not only the rare sight of a wiggler out and about without the company of a lusus, it was that he appeared to be looking at Dualscar without an ounce of fear in his yellow eyes.  
Though Ampora hardly made a habit of directly addressing those beneath him unless absolutely necessary, it appeared that his curiosity happened to get the better of him. “You, there. What are you doing dragging along a wiggler? Should he not be with his lusus, this time of night?” he demanded gruffly. The jadeblood paused, turning swiftly around to examine the violetblood who had addressed her. The young wriggler in question opened his mouth as if to reply, but a quick settling of a hand on his shoulder silenced him.  
“I was not aware that the business of jadebloods would be something of interest to a mariner such as yourself.” she replied, her voice calm and even. “I am merely assisting this young troll in finding his lusus. It is hardly a matter which concerns such an esteemed figure.” she added.  
“Is that so?” he replied, his eyes narrowing at the nearly undetectable trace of insult picked up in the jadeblood’s remark. “And do you not think that such matters are best left for the wiggler to take care of themselves”  
“If he were old enough to be capable of doing so, then yes.” she replied, still not taking any steps backward. It was a very subtle show of defiance, but it was not one that went unnoticed by the Orphaner. Due to his political experience, he had become quite adept at noticing when others were concealing something of importance, and while this particular troll might be smooth in speech, she was quite clearly not telling the whole truth.  
He stood up a tad straighter, surveying her with the same air a bird of prey might survey its next meal. “Hardly. I do not make a habit of giving out words of advice to anyone, so you ought to consider yourself quite an exception when I say this; watch your tongue, cavern-dweller. Not all higbloods would be as willing to let such insolence slide as myself, and one night in the future your sharp tongue may cut you instead.” he replied, his voice low and threatening. The wiggler looked hastily from the sea-dweller, to the jadeblood, and back to the sea-dweller again.  
An expression of obvious offense crossed the jadebloods face, but offered only a small inclination of her head to the mariner. “I thank you for your word of caution.” she replied. “Had I been so desperate as to require it, I am sure it would have proved very useful.” With that, in a swirl of dark green fabric, she was gone. The mustard-blood let out a long, low whistle, clearly impressed. Dualscar, on the other hand, exhaled through clenched teeth, glaring after her with enough fury to kill, should glares have that power.  
With a quick jerk of his head, he mentioned for the yellow-blood to come closer, even going to far as to crouch slightly in order to better reach the ear of the servant. “It appears,” he said, his voice calculating, filled with ill intent, “that you have a more interesting job than merely carrying groceries.”  
The younger troll stiffened, already seeming to have guessed what his orders might entail. his suspicions were proved correct when the rest of the Orphaner’s words were spoken. “Not only has she dared to insult me so openly, there is something...Odd afoot, here. Jadebloods are expected to tend to grubs, not wigglers...At any rate,” he continued, ceasing voicing his thoughts aloud so conspicuously, “you’re to follow after them. Learn what you can. I expect an explanation as to what she was doing with that wiggler by the time you report back to me. Is that understood?”  
The younger troll gave a small nod before stepping back, already turning to leave before sight was completely lost of the jadeblood and her strange companion-who only looked to be about three or so sweeps younger than the servant himself. Ampora watched the yellowblood leave for a moment, frowning in thought as his slave was soon lost in the crowd. Try as he might, he could not come up with a rational explanation as to what exactly the wiggler would be doing out in public with a jadeblood. It simply did not make sense.  
His frown deepened, shifting to one of anger as he considered her insolence. No troll alive could hope to insult him in such a manner and get away unscathed. No, he would learn of her situation first, and then justice would come. It was two sides of the same coin, after all-if she was doing anything against the laws of Alternia, which wouldn't surprise them, she would have to face the consequences of that as well. not only that, but any troll who dared treat him with such insolence was either brave or a fool-most likely the latter. He was a highblood in every sense of the term, after all, and he had disposed of more lusi than he could count. He was the one most trusted by the Condescenion he was sure, and he would also one day be the one to earn her favors. Of that he was certain. Another thing of which he was certain was the fact that no one-regardless of being midblood or lowblood-would ever insult him in such a way, not if they wanted to see the stars again. His hand, almost subconsciously, drifted to seize the grip of his cross-hairs, though he made no move to draw it from its holster.  
Seething, he turned from the door to face the counter. “I believe I said I wished for them to be brought out quickly.” he barked to the troll on the other side of the counter, who immediately stammered out apologies like a bumbling idiot. Quite honestly, there was little else to be expected. More or less everyone in this part of the small town was a bumbling idiot, that or a brash fool who was simply begging to be strung up and used as target practice. In a few moments, the troll came into view again, this time presenting a canvas bag filled with different tools that would be necessary in setting the ship to rights again. Give them here.” Dualscar demanded, quickly slamming a small bag of coins a tad more forcefully than was necessary. His mind, predictably, was not on the transaction in the slightest. Hopefully, the servant would be able to acquire the information, though the Orphaner did expect him to find away. Goldbloods were known for their intelligence when it came to technology as well as their telekinesis, and the slave ought to know all too well the consequences that would arise if he failed to carry out his orders. It would ease his mind if he were able to sort out the mystery himself, but a well-known figure like him would certainly attract all too much attention if he partook in such an activity. No, he thought to himself, a small, dangerous smirk playing across his face as he considered what was to come. Let the lowblood collect such things. He would deal with it Himself when the time came...Filth was something to be wiped out as quickly as possible, after all.


	3. Shackles-Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the encounter with the infamous sea-dweller, followed by a word of warning from a mustardblood, Porrim realizes that neither her nor her charge are safe. With young Kankri in tow, the jade-blood makes plans to flee to the only terrain where they cannot be tracked. The swirling sands and unforgiving climate of the Alternian landscape are far from the proper place for a young wiggler to live, but the new custodian makes do...This chapter isn't really as eventful as the last two, but shows the dynamic between the mother and her son, as well as starts to set up what lies ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go-they're finally heading to the desert, which Kankri thinks is all good fun and Porrim is...a little less amused about the situation.
> 
> This is back to Porrim's point of view, which will probably be the default narrative until Kanny gets a little bit older. For now, this is mostly going to be dealing with her fears and plans to evade discovery at all costs.
> 
> Honestly, I was initially at a bit of a loss when it came to when and how they were going to flee to the desert. According to canon he was raised there, but as I'm sure everyone knows, it was a bit lax on details, which was both fun for me to interpret and difficult to move everything along the right way. In the end, I think I did alright, and the lack of details gives me a lot more room to play around...
> 
> I hope you've all like it so far, and if you have, go ahead and share it! Please keep in mind that there won't be an update net weekend, I'm afraid, since I'll be busy with Emerald city around that time. I have the fourth hanging out on my documents, but it might be a little while before I have time to post it. It should go back to the regular schedule after net week, but I'll make a point to post it as soon as I can. The story is very close to being finished as I'm typing this, though, so it will be completed-have no fear. Keep an eye out every week or two and I'll try to post something at least once around that timeframe. I've been brainstorming ideas about the second book, too, so there'll be a lot more ancestors later if you want to stick around!

3.

Never had her own hive looked as welcoming as it did that night. The door was promptly shut behind her and her young charge, quickly shutting out both the night and the unfriendly faces it brought along with it. As always, the hive was quiet and devoid of any droids or machinery that tended to show up in the dwellings of wealthier classes-the only device she boasted of was a small sewing machine propped neatly in the far left corner by an even neater table. Once inside, her young companion almost immediately bombarded her with questions. He had a tendency to be curious, something that Porrim wasn’t sure was a trait beneficial of all wigglers or just this one in particular-funny, considering that he’d neglected to even make a sound the first time she saw him. To begin with, Porrim attempted to answer a few of her little interviewer’s questions-no, the moons did not stay out all the time, no, the tall troll with the hat was not her friend, no, the troll with the purple cape was not simply having a bad night. However, her answers soon drifted off as she began to consider the depths of her folly in dealing with the sea-dweller, something she was simultaneously quite proud of and more regretful of than she could ever remember being.  
Heaving a heavy sigh, Porrim instructed her charge to go busy himself with something or other while she sat down in one of the many chairs, trying to sort out how exactly to proceed from here. The Orphaner had not exactly taken well to being insulted, even if the comment was subtle, and the expression on his battle-scarred face had not at all been one of amusement, or even mere disapproval. She swallowed hard, having to repress a small shudder at the recollection of the fury that had twisted the troll’s face, fury directed not only at her, but to her small companion as well. Her thoughts were twisting about rapidly, and there was one bone-chilling question to be answered-what would happen if they took him? What would they do? The answer was obvious, short and horrifying. Instant death would be the thing to meet Kankri if ever he were taken from her side.  
She shut her eyes briefly, weighing the life of Kankri against the weight of life as a permanent refuge. Keeping him hidden was hardly an option, he was much too interested in life itself for that, and besides which it just seemed a cruel thing to permanently lock up such an exuberant young troll. His mutancy was hardly his fault, and there was no reason she ought to indirectly punish him for it, even if the rest of the world seemed so desperate to spill his oddly-colored blood.  
Resting her head in her hands, Porrim once again attempted to formulate some sort of plan from the many tangled problems she had created not a few hours prior. For perhaps the fifth time, she cursed herself viciously for being so foolish and prideful as to risk standing up to a sea=dweller, and a famous one at that. The question should have merely been answered and she should have left as quickly as possible without stirring up too much trouble. There had been a few close calls of her secret being discovered, but never had they been so dangerous as this before. She had heard nasty rumors, even witnessed a few horrid acts committed either on the Orphaner’s behalf or by the troll himself, and they always ended with blood being spilled. Trolls had been whipped, flogged, executed. Thrown overboard, even, if what she heard was true.  
Both her thoughts were interrupted and her fears were confirmed as a knock sounded on the door of her hive. As if struck by a bolt of lightning, Porrim sat ramrod straight, her eyes wide with the terror of the assumption of who the visitor might be. As he had been taught very strictly to do, she heard the muffled footsteps of Kankri finding a place to hide. As not to scare him, she called it a game of hide-and-seek, that when the doorbell was rung he would need to pick the best hiding place he could find and stay there untill she said it was alright to come out again. It would do no good to bring so much fear into the mind of such a young troll, and at least this way he would be able to remain safe in the event that someone with ill-intent came to call. Standing slowly, Porrim smoothed the wrinkles of her robes down and eyes the door as though it would be kicked in at any second, already fearing the worst, already envisioning her charge being taken away, being caught, being killed…  
However, her suspicions and fears were calmed only somewhat when the visitor was revealed not to be a highblood at all-in fact, caste wise, they appeared lower than herself. The troll standing outside the door looked to be of about three or so sweeps older than her charge, and he looked about as uncomfortable to be there as she was about greeting any visitors. A pair of red and blue tinged glasses rested just on the bridge of his nose, matching his eyes, and judging from his simple yellow tunic, he was not anyone in a position of power. She found herself examining the fabric with the barest hint of distaste, for it was clearly made with little regard to shape or fitting, and not to mention the fabric itself looked itchy and all-around uncomfortable. A shame really-with the young troll’s tall form and squared shoulders, he might have looked to be quite impressive if given a proper set of clothes. As it were, however, low blood-castes didn’t pay too much regard to fashion or comfort, having much bigger things to worry about, which was something that Porrim found to be quite a shame. Appearance was important, after all, not to mention there was just a certain feeling of satisfaction and confidence that came with wearing good clothes, one that just couldn’t quite be found anywhere else.  
However simply dressed, the mustard-blood’s eyes shone brightly, hinting at the telekinetic powers all members of his caste possessed. He took a moment to glance behind his shoulder quickly, as if surveying the surrounding territory for any unwanted visitors, before looking back at Porrim, having to tilt his head slightly in order to observe her taller form. He seemed uneasy, jittery, and rocked back and forth on his heels as he continued to look at the jadeblood for a moment before speaking. “So, I’m really kind of sticking my neck out here,” he began, his ‘s’’s gaining a slight hissing sound as a lisp made itself apparent, “But I need to talk to you really quickly. It’s important.” He insisted, his tone quick and urgent enough for Porrim’s brow to lift slightly in surprise. She was honestly about to step aside and allow him entrance into her home for a few minutes, mostly due to how overall paranoid he seemed to be about standing on her doorstep, but a hint of suspicion prevented her from doing so. She examined him a moment longer, eyes narrowed before he spoke again, downright worried this time.  
He chanced another glance around as he spoke, unease now clearly showing on his face. “Come on, will you? I’m not sure if you know, but I’m risking getting myself skewered and roasted over a fire with a nice grub-sauce by showing up, so at least let me on for a few minutes!” he requested. Granted, she was beginning to lessen the chances of him being some sort of trap, mostly because he did seem quite worried to be there. He certainly didn’t have the attitude of a spy, at least. Though a tad bit reluctantly, she did step aside and allow him in, and he quickly raised through the doorway as though highbloods were on his heels. “You have...Five minutes, approximately.” she decided, her gaze flickering to the timepiece hanging on the wall. “I would start explaining if I were you.” He nodded once. However, he didn’t seem to be about to start explaining quite yet, in fact, his gaze was flitting across the hive as though he were looking for something. her eyes narrowed further as she considered that she may well have fallen for some elaborate kind of scheme on the part of the Orphaner.  
Her interest was stirred again, however, as well as her suspicions when the yellow-blood spoke up. “Where’s the wiggler?” he asked, sounding more curious than at all malicious. She folded her arms, debating if she ought to reply that there was no wiggler at all, but stopped when she realized that this mustard-blood appeared to be the same one that had been present at the shop where the sea-dweller had been. There was little point lying. “Kankri?” she called, perhaps a tad hesitant. “Come and say hello, why don’t you?”  
“Coming!”  
The yellow-blood jumped slightly at the sound of a second voice, quickly turning on the heel of his boot to face the direction it had come from. It was a few more moments before the other occupant of the hive came into view. Kankri’s yellow eyes were wide with a mix of astonishment and curiosity, his hair tousled as it always seemed to be. The yellow blood gave him a nod of acknowledgment, which the younger troll returned before quickly darting to stand beside his guardian, one hand catching a fold of her robe. Porrim soon broke the silence, “What would you want with us, then? You mentioned being the victim of impalement if you were caught coming here, so why exactly would you dare risk it?” The yellow-blood opened his mouth as if to respond, but quickly shut it again, brow furrowing as he no doubt tried to think of some kind of explanation. “Well?” Porrim insisted. “Forgive me if my welcome is rather lacking, but this is an odd set of coincidences. First a sea-dweller and myself exchange words, next you come here looking as though you are hiding from a team of officials. If you’re searching for refuge, I’m afraid you will find none here. I have enough on my plate as it is.”  
The younger troll shook his head quickly. “No, I’m not after tagging along with whatever it is you guys do. I’d just get in even bigger trouble.” he replied, offering a small crooked sort of smile which revealed a set of fangs that were no doubt half-responsible for his lisp.  
“Why would you get in trouble?” piped up a small voice from behind Porrim as Kankri observed the yellowblood curiously. “Did you break the rules? You should probably just go say sorry.” the wiggler advised sagely, reiterating what his guardian had told him a few times. “I bet they’ll understand.”  
The yellow blood quirked a brow, looking skeptically from Porrim to her charge. With a slight shake of her head, the elder troll warned him not to make any comment about the idea, and settled a hand on Kankri’s shoulder to silence him. With a small shrug, the yellow blood went back to speaking. “You were there in the shop, and you remember how fish-dick-um, Dualscar, was there too, right?” Porrim nodded before allowing him to continue. “Well, he...Didn’t really like how you talked to him. At all, actually.”  
For a moment, Porrim quite honestly debated informing the mustard-blood that he ought to get to the point soon-it had been very obvious that the Orphaner had not approved of her comment and she hardly needed a young adolescent troll to inform her of the obvious. However, she forced herself to hold her tongue. What sort of an example would that be showing to Kankri, after all? Besides, the gold-blood still looked rather jumpy.  
“I have to serve the idiot as much as I’d rather be doing pretty much anything else. And..Well, he told me to follow you. Sorry about that, by the way. I was supposed to figure out why you were travelling around with a wiggler. But I won’t ask...I’m just here to try and warn you.”  
That was the statement that earned Porrims full and undivided attentions, even more so than the already peculiar circumstance. Though she still couldn’t quite stop herself from guessing at some ulterior motive, she now knew that listening to whatever it was the young gold-blood had to say was of the utmost importance. She stood for a moment longer, then slowly walked over to sit down, gesturing for him to do the same as Kankri sat himself beside her. It seemed as though the three of them would be talking for quite a while, so there was little cause to stand for the duration of it. The mustard-blood hesitated a moment, clearly unused to being offered even this small courtesy, but soon settled himself down into a chair opposite her and her young companion. He leaned back into the chair slightly, as if relishing the comfortableness of it, which made Porrim feel a slight tinge of sympathy. Slave to an enemy or not, clearly this young troll had things tougher than both her and her charge. For a moment, she considered offering the troll something to snack on as well-it was getting near dinnertime after all-but decided against it. This was a serious meeting, such pleasantries would be saved for later.  
“Warn me of what, exactly?” Porrim asked.  
The mustard-blood swallowed, looking about the room once more before sharply clearing his throat and responding. “About...Well, about Dualscar. Whatever he’s planning, it won’t be good for you.” She quirked a brow slightly, once again slightly irritated at the obviousness of some of the troll’s comments. “He’s docked here for boat repairs.” he went on to explain, and Porrim couldn’t quite restrain a small ghost of a smile at the deliberate avoidance of saying the word ‘ship.’ Clearly, having a lisp seemed more trouble than it was worth. “And that means he’ll be here for a while and I can guarantee he’s not going to let you get away with giving him what he deserved anytime soon. He’s kind of a proud jackass like that.”  
Though the jade-blood would have been lying if she had said that a small hint of amusement hadn’t come of the yellow-bloods terms, t didn’t help when she felt a small nudge at her side. She turned to see the young troll looking up at her, eyes wide. “What’s a jack-” She hushed him quickly, turning her attention back to the young servant, who seemed to be trying not to chuckle at the reaction. Clearing her throat pointedly, Porrim quickly glossed over the interruption. “I surmised all of this. Sea-dwellers are not entirely known for their forgiving nature, as I’m sure you know by now.” she added, and he exhaled sharply through his nose and nodded in agreement. “But pray tell me why this required a personal visit? I’ve seen a good number of sweeps more than you have, believe me, and I can sort of the dangers of my own actions.”  
“Well, yeah, I figured.” he replied with a small laugh. “But the thing is, you’re in a lot of trouble, here. I’m supposed to head back with a nice little report of where you live, why you’re carrying around a wiggler...All that stuff. But I’m not going to do that. He might think I’m willing to stoop that low like he does, but I won’t.” For a moment, the servant’s eyes seemed focus elsewhere, and when he spoke again it seemed as though he was addressing himself more than he was her or Kankri. “I’m not like him at all.”  
The small comment got Porrim to thinking, and she examined the yellow-blood a tad more closely than she had done previously. His face was angular, and would be considered quite intelligent looking if it weren’t so thin. In fact, he was quite thin overall, to the point of looking quite underfed, and there was a slight yellow tinge under his eyes that told her he hadn’t been sleeping well.  
The quiet yet firm insistence that he was nothing like the rich sea-dwellers under which he served struck a chord in the jade-blood, one that made a few of her defenses ebb slightly. She had seen her fair share of slaves both being sold at cruel auctions and being paraded through the streets, and normally they were of his class or lower. Though the sight had hurt her conscious, Porrim had always merely turned away and got on with whatever she had set out to do quickly, taking care not to walk that particular route again. Thankfully, jade-bloods did not have to take part in the horrific yet booming business that was slavery, and she took care to distance herself from both the rumors and the sights, and absolutely refused to take any servants on. She had little need of them, after all, not to mention she suspected that she wouldn’t really be able to live with herself if she did.  
Soon, the servant seemed to escape his small reverie and went right back to talking again, though less tense and nervous this time around. “The whole point of the thing is...Well, I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing, but if you want to keep that wiggler and yourself alive, you’ve gotta get yourself out of here, and fast. Take the wiggler with you too, Krankly or whatever the hell his name was. He won’t be safe either, especially since his lusus is probably long dead by now.”  
It was with a deep breath that Porrim realized that the gold-blood was right. “And where would you suggest I go?” she mused. “I have not done any travelling in my time, save the journeys I take to the Caverns.” for a few more moments, she pondered where even there was any place far from the Empire’s mighty grasp. Coming up with no results, she turned to another question that had been itching at her mind. “What did you say your name was again?”  
The mustard-blood looked up again, clearly unused to being asked such a thing, but responded in kind. “Slave number twenty-two.” he replied.  
Porrim frowned, quickly shaking her head. “I refuse to refer to you as a number. Your proper name, if you would.”  
With that, the young troll cracked a small uneven smile. “Captor. Mituna Captor.”  
The name had a sharp sort of sound to it, though it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Pleasant to meet you, then.” she replied, choosing to momentarily ignore the prominent, “I’m Kankri.” to her left. The introduction was met by another small nod from Mituna, who surveyed the wiggler briefly before bringing his attention to the jade-blood again. “Nice to meet you as well. But, really, you need to leave, somewhere far from this port where he won’t be able to go looking for you.” he advised.  
Porrim once again sighed and attempted to think of any remote places where both her and her son could live without fear of being chased around by any sea-dwellers or highbloods. As before, due to her lack of travelling and the sheer vastness of the Empire, none came to mind. “I’ve nowhere to go.” she said simply, unconsciously drawing an arm around Kankri, who leaned into his guardian. Captor observed the gesture with a bit of curiosity, more than likely trying to sort out what she was doing caring for a wiggler in the first place. “Kankri is still quite young, it would be difficult to travel very far with him in tow. There are highbloods in every town; you cannot expect me to avoid all of them at once.”  
Mituna grunted once at the vastness of the problem, cupping his chin in his hand as his multi-colored eyes focused on a point far off, thinking hard. It appeared as though, for the moment at least, he seemed to be faring no better than herself when it came to brainstorming very many options, if any at all. A frown grew steadily on the young servants face, making Porrim’s heart sink slightly-truly, her and Kankri were quite trapped.  
It was then when the troll sat up ram-rod straight, his eyes widening and a look of triumph striking his features. “Got it! There’s the desert, you and him could go to the desert. It’s harsh, sure, but no one except the merchants go there, and you could easily hide from them.”  
Though the idea seemed sound. Porrim couldn't help but feel reluctant to the idea of packing up everything and travelling to such an unforgiving climate. Only the very courageous or the very foolish ventured so far out into the Alternian landscape, and it was overrun with unfriendly rogues and wild, uncivilized trolls. “It seems like even more danger than if I stayed here. Only those who've been there many times know how to navigate out there.”  
Mituna thought for another moment before replying. “There are maps you can buy, supplies you can get. I’m sure trolls that live near the border know their way around the dunes; you could always ask them. And if they ask about your wriggler, just tell them you’re teaching him how to navigate or something-they might not buy it, but it’ll save any weird questions. Trust me, it’ll work.”  
Porrim frowned, still clearly not sold on the idea. “There’s a lot of risks to be taken along with that course of action, you know.”  
Mituna chuckled. “There’s way more if you stay here. I think the desert would be more forgiving than a highblood, that’s for sure.”  
“How would you know? Have you traveled out there yourself? Are you some sort of famed navigator now?” she scoffed slightly, causing the gold-blood’s bright eyes to narrow. “You’ll forgive me for being slightly skeptical.”  
“Listen here, jade-blood, and you best listen close. I don’t know what kind of land you’ve been living in during the daytime, but whatever it is...The Orphaner doesn't care about it. He’s not gonna care who the hell you are, or who the hell the wiggler is. If he wants blood, he’ll get it. I've seen it double the amount of times anyone else has, and been on the receiving end at least half that. You want proof?” Still glaring, Mituna stood and turning away from the two trolls seated opposite him, pulling up the hem of his shirt to reveal a collection of yellow scars. “I didn't get these from tripping and falling in a bed of roses, alright? Unless you want your charge or whatever over there getting a nice little collection himself, you best move it. I’m trying to help you out, here, you know. I don’t exactly have to do this.”  
For perhaps a rare moment in her lifetime, Porrim had no words except, “...I understand now.”  
Mituna tugged his shirt back down, turning and sitting down again with a rather satisfied look. “Good, that makes things easier and quicker. So, back to your little escape route. I suggest you don’t wait, not even another day. Is he jade, too?” the troll asked, and received a quick shake of the head from Porrim. “Damn, that makes things a bit more difficult. If you traveled during the day it would be easy picking from here on out, but that;s obviously not an option. So, just be careful. And don’t get caught.”

As he’d warned, the gold-blood did not stay long, merely suggested certain pathways to take and a few people to avoid. He spoke quickly, offered little help in regards to details, and did not bother asking if he could come along. He merely said his piece and stood to leave, brushing her off gruffly when she offered a word of thanks, but accepting a bit of food to take along with him. “Cheers.” he said before quickly stuffing the bit of grubloaf into his mouth, It was only when he was halfway down the steps to her home that Porrim called after him to halt, Kankri still present at her side.  
“Why did you...What did you stand to gain for this? For helping me?” she inquired.  
The yellowblood paused, glancing back over his shoulder at her and merely shrugged, providing an answer through a muffled lens of partially-chewed food. “Don’t like seein’ wiggs get hurt.” he replied simply before disappearing out into the night.  
Though she would have wanted to leave immediately, there was a sliver of light on the horizon that told her that travel would be impossible, at least for the duration of the day. Quickly ushering Kankri back inside, she set t work packing, first with the essentials. Water was one of the things packed the most extensively, for the desert was not exactly something that was charitable in that area. Food came next, then clothes, though Porrim realized with a sigh she simply could bring all the outfits she had designed for both herself and her charge without adding extra weight. She could swear a part of herself was being left behind, once she saw the sheer number of things she was leaving behind.  
Her sewing machine obviously could not be brought along either, and she said her final goodbyes with another small project. The sand of the desert were infamous for getting everywhere on clothes and even in your eyes, and the least she could do was to offer Kankri some protection from it. Forcing him to stand still while she measured was the most difficult part, but she soon managed to get the right lengths for a small cloak, designed for travel, made of a grey fabric found at the back of her closet. It was thick enough to offer protection from the cold, but thin enough so as to not bunch up or prove difficult to move around in. It took her a little while to construct it, so that by the time the fabric was pinned and settled around the mutant’s shoulders, the harsh glare of the sun was starting to fade. She then hoisted up the pack containing what they needed, fixed Kankri with his own, and sat down to wait.  
Of course, her charge thought the entire adventure was excellent. Already he was abuzz with chatter and questions about where it was they were going, and why, and how they would get there, and how long it would take. Porrim tried her best to answer what came up patiently as always, though she wearily wondered yet again how the boy could have so many questions.  
When they at last set out, the journey was long and full of close calls. Walking from one town to the next was easy enough, it was merely being in the town that served the most trouble. Kankri, as always, drew a lot of attention merely stemming from his age. She saw no sign of their violet-blooded pursuer, and this at least eased her mind a little. The backroads Mituna had suggested had clearly been chosen with secrecy in mind, though it seemed as though they were not the only ones to take advantage of them. Three separate times she was forced to stop and explain that she was not in the least interested in buying anything illegal, nor was she selling anything at all. Conflict almost arose once, but thankfully the two thugs in question began arguing over prices, which allowed the two of them to slip away safely.  
The desert was gigantic, even more so than she had expected.  
The very air seemed to be thicker, even as the midnight breeze chased grains of sand about over the dry, barren expanse. Porrim took in the view, gripping her charge’s hand a bit tighter before he quickly ripped free from her grip, plunging headlong into the sands with a shout of excitement. Sighing heavily, she started after him, observing the surroundings on the way.  
The stars seemed strikingly clear, much more so than they ever had been in the cities, and the pink and green glow of the moons illuminated everything in their path, unobscured aside from a few sand dunes. Captor had been quite correct-the sands beneath her feet bore no footprints or tracks, and aside from the two of them, there seemed to be no ones else about.  
If the jade-blood and her charge could survive the cost of survival in such a barren place, they would be safe and have little threat from the law or highbloods to be concerned about. But, Porrim thought as she cautiously stepped over the half-buried skeleton of a feather-beast, the former was looking to already be quite difficult.


End file.
